Broken Strings
by BabygirlSash
Summary: "Let me hold you for the last time, it's the last chance to feel again...You can't play on broken strings. You can't feel anything that your heart don't want to feel. I can't tell you something that ain't real" James Morrison


**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own **Harry Potter** – this belongs to J. K. Rowling. No profit is being made from this work; it is purely for entertainment purposes. **No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Warnings:** Slash, of the Harry/Draco variety – my favourite kind! Angsty (or at least I tried...)

**Author's Note:** Okay, so writer's block is seriously kicking my ass where my other fic, 'Advent', is concerned. As such, while I figure that out and get some sort of concrete path for it, I present to you this little one-shot. The idea came to me while listening to a particularly wonderful song, which you will see at the end of the fic (although, the title might just tell you exactly which song that is :)) Anyways, on with the tale... Enjoy!

._._._._.

Broken Strings

The kiss left Draco reeling.

He felt dizzy, his head foggy and his breathing laboured. His heart was beating so fast that he thought it might just seize up at any second. Harry hadn't kissed him like that in so long. Not since...

But Draco did not want to think of that right now, not when Harry was holding him like he had done before, touching him like he had their first time together – reverently. He shut his eyes to the onslaught of sensation. Harry's lips trailing soft, hot kisses down his neck; his beautiful calloused hands leaving a path of fire down the sides of his bare torso.

"Harry..." Draco breathed out, trying to tell him how much this meant to him, how much he had missed this, but not able to do so without choking on the words.

"Shhh," Harry whispered back, never pausing in his sweet, sweet torture.

He appeared to be on a mission that night. Every caress, every kiss seemed to mean something deeper – as though he were pouring every last drop of himself into it. That very thought seemed to set off warning bells in the back of Draco's mind, but he pushed the idea aside. He had been craving this very thing for so long now; he couldn't possibly stop it, did not want to.

He entwined his fingers in Harry's thick locks, pulled him up for another searing kiss, wanted to tell him so much...

I'm sorry... please forgive me... I love you.

But Draco could never get the words out. Not since the pleading he had done that night... the night, three months ago, when Harry had walked in on him and Charlie Weasley.

It had been a stupid mistake – one he had made repeatedly – fuelled by anger and hurt. Anger on Draco's part, resenting Charlie the family he had and the bond he maintained with Harry; hurt on Charlie's part, pained still by all that he had lost due to the Dark Lord, and due to the Malfoys hand in it. That was the first time, at least.

Draco would be lying if he had said that it was the last, since Harry had caught him.

Though his half-formed ramblings had worked on that night, and Harry had stayed with him, he still became distant with Draco. He held him at arms length constantly. Whenever they spoke, it was stilted, lacking in the ease that they had always had with one another, and their playful banter had stopped all together.

And when they made love... well, it could hardly even be called that. It was hesitant and clumsy – as though they were scared of one another, simply going through the motions because they had to, or were being forced to. That was not the only reason, though, Draco had to admit. It wasn't even the heart of the matter. The main reason, the biggest cause for falling into another's bed over and over again, was fear. Always fear.

Every time Draco saw how deep he was falling into Harry, every time he realised how very hooked he was on the Chosen One, and the kind of hold the Gryffindor had on him – every time, he found himself, once again, being fucked by Charlie. It was hardly a good enough excuse – nothing was when it came to what he was doing to Harry. But he never tried to tell himself that it was, simply hated himself a little more every moment.

Draco had regretted it every single time. But he was not fool enough to believe that that would mean anything. He just felt so inadequate, so alone sometimes. Even when Harry was in the room with him it felt as if he were a million leagues away. And Draco could only detest himself all the more, every time, knowing that he had caused the chasm in the first place, and was doing hardly anything to mend it.

He had tried, or rather thought of trying, to fix what he had done (continually done), but he just never knew how. He never knew what to do, never had the words to say – and after a while "I'm sorry" just started to sound stale. It's not that Draco didn't mean it. He meant it with everything that he was. But it was a little difficult to convince your love of that when you just kept on doing what you knew you were not supposed to. He had just about given up entirely, in fact, but now...

He sighed in gratitude and wonder. Now Harry was touching him again, kissing him again, just like he used to.

Draco groaned and whimpered as Harry continued his ministrations down his chest. He took his time, lapping at every bit of exposed skin, licking and biting gently at his hardened nipples. He moved lower then, dipping his tongue into his navel, making him shudder and moan wantonly with need, with desire.

By the time Harry got to his crotch, Draco was a quivering mass of want, his erection so hard it hurt. Not wasting any time, Harry engulfed his cock entirely. The sensation of the wet warmth around his engorged prick, and the feeling of hitting the back of Harry's throat, was almost too much for Draco. He gave a strangled cry and clenched the bed sheet in his fists, stopping himself from coming right there by sheer force of will.

As Harry sucked on him, licking the vein on the underside of his cock, swirling his talented tongue around the head and dipping it into his slit, Draco was reduced to a gibbering mess. Nonsense monosyllable words, grunts, groans and whimpers that were almost sobs were all he was capable of, followed by a prayer made up only of Harry's name. And just as he came to the edge, just as he was about to lose himself in the most blissful oblivion, his love pulled away.

Draco cried out in disappointment this time, not wanting Harry to ever stop, ever let go. But then Harry was lying atop him, kissing him again with fervour unmatched. He practically devoured Draco, sliding his tongue over his lips before taking his bottom one into his mouth, kneading it with his teeth. Draco gasped, feeling like a drowning man in the vast ocean that was Harry. When his love's tongue slipped into his mouth, demanding utmost dominance, Draco gave it to him without hesitation.

_Anything_, he thought, _everything – it's all yours, only yours_.

Harry nudged his legs further apart with his hips and he complied, spreading himself open as wide as he could. When he felt a slick finger at his entrance, he realised Harry must have cast a wordless, wandless lubrication charm. He groaned aloud at the thought; he never did fail to be utterly turned on by his love's power.

The digit breached him then, slowly, gently, one knuckle at a time. Harry broke the kiss, the both of them needing air, but also so he could concentrate fully on making this good – like he always had done. Tears, unaccountably, pricked at Draco's eyes at that thought, but he blinked them away hurriedly. This would be good for the both of them, he decided firmly. He would give as good as he got. He needed to.

Harry added another finger. Twisting and turning them, stretching Draco expertly while also looking for that one particular spot, the one that always succeeded in turning the Slytherin to mush. As his lover added a third digit, preparing Draco fully, he found it. The lithe blonde cried out hoarsely, his throat dry from all his needy panting, when Harry hit his prostrate a few more times before pulling his fingers free. Draco could not help but bemoan the loss.

Barely a second later, however, he felt something much larger, and much more preferable, at his slicked hole. Harry teased him for a moment, which felt like an eternity, simply rubbing his slippery head over Draco's entrance. He pushed gently, scarcely nudging at the puckered skin, but never breached.

"Harry, please," Draco whimpered, almost brokenly, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the delicious torment. "Please..."

Without a sound, Harry complied. Ever so tenderly, he pushed his thick, beautiful cock into his eager hole. Slowly, but smoothly, he kept going until he was fully seated in Draco, his balls slapping softly against his arse. He grunted softly then, keeping himself as still as possible in order for Draco to adjust. With surprise, the blonde realised that that was the first sound he'd heard from Harry since they'd begun. He wondered, for an instant, if that should worry him. A second later he had no more room left for coherent thought, though, as Harry began to thrust into him.

He started off with a quiet rhythm. He pulled out, almost all the way, and then gradually pushed back in, stretching Draco even further. The Slytherin could not get enough of the feeling. He loved being so very full, especially with Harry. It was as if, in this moment, they were irrevocably joined; they were one. He would never, could never get enough.

It did not take much time, though, before Harry was plunging into him vigorously. Draco met him thrust for thrust, wrapping his legs around Harry's waist and pulling him in as deep as he could go. Soon, the Gryffindor was hitting his sweet spot with every push and Draco found his cries of ecstasy getting louder and louder until he was positively howling from the pleasure.

When Harry wrapped his hand firmly around the blonde's swollen cock, pumping him in time to his thrusts, Draco found himself rising higher than he had ever been before. It wasn't much longer after that point that he was mercilessly pushed over the edge, falling deep into an abyss of pure, unparalleled pleasure. Only when he was again somewhat coherent, though still riding the waves of the aftershocks, did he feel Harry's seed cooling inside of him. That sensation alone made him feel happier, more hopeful, than he had been in a long time.

The love he felt for the man above him was absolute, undeniable, and no longer as scary as he had once thought it to be. Harry had just given him a most precious gift, and he saw it as such, felt it in his very being. This wasn't something to run from; he now understood this with utmost clarity. This was something to hold on to and never let go of, something to cherish. Why had he ever seen it differently? He did not know, but what he did know was that he could now treat this relationship, and Harry (especially Harry), how it should be treated.

From then on out, Draco decided he would be the man that Harry thought worthy of his love. He might never say those words out loud in such a maudlin way, of course, but he would show it. The time had come for him to step up, and he was ready. He only wished it hadn't taken him so long.

_..._

Harry rose long before the sun, only a scant few hours later.

He had left the bed, careful not to wake Draco, did his business in the bathroom, and then gone downstairs to the kitchen. For a couple of hours, all he had done was sit, unmoving, at the table, staring at nothing, thinking nothing. He had then got up, almost unconsciously, and started on the breakfast. He supposed he had simply got so good at pretending, his motions were now practically mechanical. Which, really, was a very apt description, Harry thought to himself, considering the state of his emotions - or lack thereof.

Except for the night before. That had been... necessary. Yes, Harry decided, necessary was the right word.

Prior to that, however, and for quite a while now, the green-eyed man had been feeling less and less. And now, now he felt nothing. He was hollow. Harry would have chosen almost anything else over the vast emptiness that consumed him, day in and day out.

Hurt, anger, even loathing would be preferable. But this... this _apathy_ was killing him. Slowly, and more surely, than having a piece of Voldermort's own soul festering inside of him. Every time he touched Draco now, fucked him, for it could not honestly be called making love anymore, it was as if it were someone else. Harry always felt as though he were a spectator, watching from the outside. The falsity of it all was becoming far too much to bare; he just couldn't take it anymore. It was time to face the inevitable truth - for no matter how much the truth hurt, the lies had begun to hurt worse.

The shining love, so new and so vibrant, that he and Draco had once shared was now no more than crumbling ruins, falling down around them. The passion, the very fire that had fuelled their relationship from the very beginning, had turned inward, only succeeding in burning them both before fizzling out entirely. But not before Draco had broken him.

The night he had gone looking for the Slytherin, after one of their many arguments (though he couldn't say now what that fight had been about), and had found him in the bed of Charlie would forever be imprinted in his mind, mocking him. He hadn't even known that Charlie had been in town, at the time. What a way to find out.

Draco had begged that night. It was one of the few times Harry could remember him doing so, and probably the only time he actually meant it. He can't really recall what exactly the blonde had said, didn't know if the words had even made any sense. After the great shock of the discovery, numbness had seeped into him, spreading like ice, making him feel so very cold. His relationship with, both, Draco and Charlie had never been the same after that.

To the elder Weasley, he had shown nothing but anger, resentment. He had always been pleasant with Charlie; they'd had a very easy-going friendship. Because Charlie was the variable less treasured in his eyes, however, he had been the simpler target for Harry's impressive temper. He was also easier to shut out. And while Draco had fallen prey to the Gryffindor's anger, as well, Harry had had a more difficult time sustaining it with him. Instead, he had slowly and automatically begun to distance himself from his love – for Harry had still loved him, profoundly.

To begin with, it had been a defence mechanism, the raven-haired man was aware. He had tried, despite that, to remember what they had had in the beginning, had tried to hold on to that and forgive. But it was not enough. Before he knew it, things had become far worse than he could deal with. He was now completely closed off from the one man he had given nearly everything to. A void now existed between him and Draco and he had never felt more helpless. And so, due to avoidance, it had been allowed to grow beyond their current capacity to fix it. Not for the first time, he wondered if he even wanted to fix it.

The infallible truth of the matter was that Harry just didn't feel the same way anymore, didn't feel anything anymore. And everyday that passed, he found he loved Draco a little less than before.

Still, he might have held on at least a little while longer, thrown himself into their burning wreck of a relationship, tried to find something, anything worth saving. He now knew, though. There was nothing left to save. The destruction was absolute. Charlie, in fact, had shown him that conclusively.

The Weasley sibling had come to him about a week prior, told him he needed to speak with him, to come clean, as it were. Harry almost wished he hadn't. But no, it was better that he knew, better that he was stripped of his every delusion. This... thing that he had with Draco – it was over. He could not run from that fact any longer.

Apparently, catching Draco cheating had not been enough to stop the blonde from doing it again. And again, and again, and again. Harry didn't even know exactly how many times it had happened, but he knew all he needed to know. The night he had walked in on his love and Charlie fucking had not been the first time, and it had not been the last. That had cemented Harry's resolve; he was ending it. Hence, the time he had shared with Draco the night previous.

Knowing that it was the last time, his last chance to try and feel anything with Draco, Harry had put his all into it. It hadn't really worked as well for him. He now simply felt vacant, drained of everything. As good a way as any to break things off, he supposed.

Draco had a certain glow about him when he came down for breakfast, fresh and ready for work. It made Harry... sad. For all that he and the lithe blonde had been through, in their relationship and far before that even, this was the man that had owned him, completely. No other would ever be able to boast the same. Harry knew this with supreme certainty. He had given of himself once, he'd never do it again – and not least of all because it would _still_ feel like a betrayal, to Draco. Harry almost scoffed at the thought.

By the time Draco left for work, the two of them had barely spoken a sentence to each other. Neither knew quite what to say, lost in their own thoughts. Before he departed, though, Draco did manage one thing.

"I love you," he said, the conviction in his voice evident, his sincerity clear, and yet he seemed almost shy looking at Harry. It was as if he were saying it for the very first time.

For a moment Harry could get no words out, watching as Draco leaned in and almost let the kiss happen. He turned his face at the last instant, however, so that the blonde only managed to brush his cheek. The light in Draco's eyes dimmed a bit, but he still managed a small smile.

"Me too," Harry finally managed to get out, not able to do any better than that.

_..._

When Draco returned home that evening, the house had a stillness to it that felt ominous. Without realising it, his breathing got shallower, faster. His heart began to race, thrumming with something akin to fear before he had even put his briefcase down. At first glance, however, nothing seemed out of place. Telling himself he was being ridiculous, Draco walked further into the abode.

He checked the entire downstairs first. The hallway he was in, the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, the study, the guest room and guest bathroom – all appeared to be as they should. Walking over to the staircase, moving slowly as if he were expecting an ambush, the Slytherin began to ascend, paying careful attention to his surroundings, every sight and every sound. He moved through the upper floor as he had done the lower one. First he checked the second study, then small library and the spare room. For some reason, he left his and Harry's room for last.

He approached the door to the main bedroom as one would approach a known lair of some great beast. He tried, and failed, to once again convince himself of his foolishness. There was nothing to be afraid of. Still, he pushed the door gently open, trying to make as little sound in the complete silence of the house as he could.

Draco did not know exactly what he was expecting, but whatever it was it didn't happen. It was rather anti-climactic in that sense, and yet, in spite of that, he could not get his heart rate to slow down. It was as if his heart were trying to tell him something, to warn him of some terrible thing about to occur.

The room looked as it always did, though, albeit dimmer than usual. That was odd, Draco thought to himself. The lights were usually on by the time he got home, making the house all the more welcoming. He realised now that he had not come across a single glowing light. The house was in total darkness. His heart began to beat even faster then, harder – it was almost painful. His hands became clammy and his steps faltered. His chest was rising and falling so quickly it was as if he had run a mile. Something was wrong.

Without delay, rushing with purpose, Draco made his way over to their shared closet in three strides. He threw open the doors, like he knew that whatever was lurking in the house was hiding in there, and stilled. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of the swinging door to steady himself; if he hadn't, he would surely have fallen to his knees.

Harry's stuff was gone.

Not one pair of shoes, not a single article of clothing, was left. For a few minutes all Draco could do was stare, unseeing, into the bare space on Harry's side. He focused on his breathing, as though trying to remind himself that it was important that he continue taking in air.

He lifted his head slowly, looked around the room again, and it was as if he were now seeing the place through a new set of eyes. It was like a veil had been lifted. He took in everything, every change and missing object, precisely.

Everything, though there was not much, that was Harry's alone, or that he had valued, was gone. Looking into their en-suite bathroom, he noted the absence of Harry's toothbrush. That simple awareness cracked his heart, pulling him out of his shock with a deep stab of pain.

Walking out of the room, still half-dazed, he saw that some of the pictures they'd hung on the walls of the hallway were missing as well – probably all the ones featuring the Weasel and his wife (couldn't call her Granger anymore). More pain.

Not really wanting to see anything more, Draco made his way into the kitchen. He sat down heavily at the table. What happened?

_Stupid question, Malfoy_, he admonished himself, though in a voice that sounded achingly like Harry's. _But last night_... Draco thought desperately.

The night before had been flawless. It had filled Draco with fulfilment so profound that he had felt, incredibly, as though he were a new person, a better person. Harry had held nothing back, and had made it impossible for Draco to keep away anything of himself – not that he had wanted to. It had been the most open with each other they had been in months. It had been the first time Draco had been so completely open and giving _ever_! Last night had been...

_Goodbye._

And in that instant, Draco grasped the significance that, previously, had flown right by him. Harry had given him everything so that there was nothing left. Every caress, every kiss, had served to pave his way out of Draco's life. Perversely, the blonde thought that Harry was merely showing him, in acute detail, everything that he was losing, that was no longer his.

How had he not seen this coming? How had he managed to secure himself in a relationship that was failing in every way? Was he really so arrogant as to believe that Harry would actually stay, with him, when there was no reason left to do so?

Getting up, robotically, Draco moved to the kettle. It was simply so that he had something to do, the feeling of pointlessness eating away at him. That was when he saw it.

Next to the kettle, propped up against the coffee pot, was a small folded piece of parchment. For a second, Draco wondered why in the world Harry would place it there. Of course, he thought to himself in the next instant. The first thing the Slytherin always did, upon arriving home, was make himself a strong cup of coffee. The richness of the aroma, the warmth of the taste, had always succeeded in soothing him after a long day at the office. Something indefinable broke within Draco at the realisation of just how well Harry knew him.

Reaching out slowly, his hands trembling uncontrollably, Draco picked up the note. Taking a deep, unhelpful breath, he unfolded it. At first, the words appeared blurry and it took a moment before his vision cleared. Only when a clear drop fell onto the parchment, did the blonde realise that he was crying. Paying that no mind, however, he read the few words scrawled before him. Then he read them again, this time processing their meaning, maybe even willing them to change into something else, something less cutting.

_Draco,_

_I'm sorry. I can't make myself say what's not real anymore. I can't make myself feel what's not there._

_Your future awaits you, but I no longer see a place in it for me._

_Goodbye,_

_Harry._

The note slipped out of Draco's boneless fingers, fluttering softly to the floor. He didn't notice. The stupor he had fallen into was so overwhelming that he, seemingly, lost all sensory perception. He looked, but he couldn't see; he listened, but he couldn't hear; he touched, but he couldn't feel. Harry had left and all meaning, all value had left with him. His last chance was gone. He now knew; the last night that Harry had gifted to him was the last time he'd ever feel that way again.

Draco's world shattered.

._._._._.

_Let me hold you_

_For the last time_

_It's the last chance to feel again_

_But you broke me_

_Now I can't feel anything_

_When I love you_

_It's so untrue_

_I can't even convince myself_

_When I'm speaking_

_It's the voice of someone else_

_Oh, it tears me up_

_I try to hold on, but it hurts too much_

_I try to forgive, but it's not enough_

_To make it all okay_

_You can't play on broken strings_

_You can't feel anything_

_That your heart don't want to feel_

_I can't tell you something that ain't real_

_Oh, the truth hurts_

_And lies worse_

_How can I give anymore_

_When I love you a little less_

_Than before_

_Oh, what are we doing?_

_We are turning into dust_

_Playing house in the ruins of us_

_Running back through the fire_

_When there's nothing left to save_

_It's like chasing the very last train when it's too late (too late)_

_Oh, it tears me up_

_I try to hold on, but it hurts too much_

_I try to forgive, but it's not enough_

_To make it all okay_

_You can't play on broken strings_

_You can't feel anything_

_That your heart don't want to feel_

_I can't tell you something that ain't real_

_Well, the truth hurts_

_And lies worse_

_How can I give anymore_

_When I love you a little less_

_Than before_

_But we're running through the fire_

_When there's nothing left to save_

_It's like chasing the very last train_

_When we both know it's too late (too late)_

_You can't play on broken strings_

_You can't feel anything_

_That your heart don't want to feel_

_I can't tell you something that ain't real_

_Oh, the truth hurts_

_And lies worse_

_How can I give anymore_

_When I love you a little less_

_Than before_

_Oh, you know that I love you a little less_

_Than before_

_Let me hold you_

_For the last time_

_It's the last chance to feel again_

_James Morrison ft. Nelly Furtado – Broken Strings_

**Author's Note: **As is pretty obvious now, the title of this one-shot is taken from the title of the James Morrison song above (which is absolutely beautiful!). It is also the inspiration behind the fic itself. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope you enjoyed it. This was my first time delving into slightly more graphic slash, and I'm not entirely certain that I'm good at writing angst either. Feedback would be absolutely fantastic, so please leave me a review and let me know your thoughts/feelings. Thank you :)


End file.
